


(Snippets)

by FireontheMountain (Eleint)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Divergence Verse: the darker timeline, Gen, Gift Fic, context not provided, departs canon around S4-ish, implied past MCD, minor worldbuilding, rp expansion pack, semi-spoiler (it's res fic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleint/pseuds/FireontheMountain
Summary: The reality of it was, research left them too much time to think.So they talked instead.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redzakku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redzakku/gifts).



> Please heed warnings.

# \- 1- 

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

Cora’s all but bristling when she slides into the seat across from him. They both know what she’s really asking is ‘how did he find her?’ and ‘didn’t he have more important things to do?’ 

“Also, you look terrible.”

“Hello to you too.” Banking on the fact that she showed up at all. 

“Peter gave me your address.” He slides the scrap of paper towards her. It seems to cool her off, but he suspects the scent plays a bigger part than whatever Peter wrote. 

“If you know what’s happened, then you know I’m asking for your help. I’m stacking the deck.”

# \- 2 -

“Why not Scott?”

“What?”

“Scott. Your friend? The supposedly helpful one? And as far as I know, much easier to find.”

“Scott’s who I would have called if I wanted someone to talk me _out_ of this—I called Lydia.” Plus, it’s Derek. Nothing about that conversation could have gone well.  


# \- 3 -

“You’re not the first to wonder, believe me,” Stiles says, flipping carefully through yet another book. The old texts are delicate, (and expensive.) Getting access to them had been difficult, not to mention a lot like working through a puzzle where all the edges are missing. Why hadn’t anyone in the supernatural community heard of digitization?

“You want me to keep helping? Then explain.” Cora crosses her arms, her chin in her hands. A pose so familiar, it hurts. “Mom and Laura were always the ones who dealt with the Emissary stuff, and what Peter is willing to share he overheard.”

She keeps looking at him, pointedly ignoring her book.

“So explain. Or I can just go and talk to people.”

The annoying thing is, she’s better at that than he is. Or, in Cora-speak, Stiles goes at it like a bullet train flinging questions, perplexing people, who attempt to answer to try and fend him off. 

Cora’s won, and she knows it. Also, the idea of trying to work out another scribbled was making his brain hurt.

“Well, you know the whole emissary-alpha connection has to be a mutual decision?” 

“I would hope so.” 

_Way_ too familiar. He shuts his eyes. 

“Me and Scott, we could have tried, but it wouldn’t have worked.” Too many bad habits. “Because we won’t listen to each other when it matters, we’ve known each other too long.” 

And God hadn’t that been another argument. He knows that Scott’s still holding a grudge about it, and not just against him. At least Deaton finally stepped in, but it sucks that it took _that_ for Scott to back down. 

She gives him a weighted stare, letting the silence stretch. When she’s sure he won’t be saying anything else, she kicks back her chair. “I say we’re done here today.”

“You just don’t want me asking you personal questions.”

“Helping _you_ , remember. Anyway, I’m hungry.”


	2. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something else. Collected.
> 
> One more bit left to flesh out/transcript

## The Aftermath

“You get used to it.”

Derek looks at Stiles in the doorway. He can’t make out his face, but something in Stiles’ voice told him he didn’t want to. He knows the it’s a concession, and an apology and he hates it, hates this odd careful distance between them when just yesterday – except that it wasn’t.

“What’s all this?” He finally asks, pointing; papers cover what had once been their living room, the furniture pushed back save for the single couch with its rumpled afghan. He could guess, but needed to hear it from Stiles.

“When you’d asked earlier. About what happened after you died.”

Months ago, according to the calendar.

Stiles shrugs, picks up a couple pages at random and presses them into Derek’s hands. “You really think that I could leave it like that?”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2019? I mean, it's not New Years day yet.


End file.
